


Bundt Cakes

by Dangit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Awkward Zoro, M/M, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, Zoro is a dork, and Sanji is too, god they're cute together, precious cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangit/pseuds/Dangit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: "I'm eating at the restaurant you work at everyday just to see you even though I don't like the food."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bundt Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> I read this, and immediately thought of Sanji getting pissed at Zoro because he isn't eating his food. So then, I wrote it lol

Sanji was five when he first entered a kitchen, he was nine when he first was allowed to touch the food, and he was twelve when he first invented his first recipe. By the age of seventeen, he was named Sous Chef at his father’s restaurant, and when he was twenty-two, he had opened his very own.

Now, at age twenty-six, he’s a well-established cook of the finest caliber who has been praised all over the world and who could, if he so wanted to, charge up to $300 for a plate—which he won’t ever do because that’s just fucking ridiculous.

But that’s not the point. The point is, Sanji is an amazing cook. He knows it, you know it, everybody and their grandma knows it.

_So why in the fucking hell does that green-haired bastard never eats the cake he orders?_

The man has been coming in for about a month now. Sanji took his order the first time he came, and even though the man only spoke in one-syllable answers, Sanji treated him kindly because he ordered the cake Sanji had prepared that morning.

It made his day…at least, until he came back to clean the table after the man had left and saw that the cake was perfectly intact.

Of course, that had gathered Sanji’s curiosity (and anger). Sanji doesn’t like wasting food—if they ever have any leftover food, either the cooks take it, or Sanji gives it away to homeless people. Maybe the guy doesn’t like strawberry cake?

Sanji tells his waiters to let him know when the guy comes, and when he does two days later, Sanji takes his order again. The man doesn’t look at him and only grunts when Sanji asks if he wants the same order as before. Sanji changes the recipe a little and makes it a little more similar to the prize-winning cake that got him his second Michelin star, and gives his best smile when he delivers it.

The man—who looks about Sanji’s age except the green hair points at a less level of maturity—nods in thanks, takes out a book, picks up his coffee, and proceeds to drink it while reading, totally ignoring the slice of perfection in front of him.

He doesn’t even taste it!

Does he not like the presentation?

The next time he comes, Sanji decorates the cake with slices of strawberry shaped like rose. The man doesn’t even look at it, but he speaks for the first time to tell him thanks in a low, gruff voice

A week after that, Sanji goes for simplicity. The man stares at the cake and Sanji grins in triumph, but then returns to his book. Again he comes the two days later, and this time Sanji gives him chocolate cake.

The man sends it back.

Vanilla cake. _Non_.

Carrot cake. Nein.

Coconut cake. Fuck no.

Banana. Almond. Tres Leches. Hazelnut. Key Lime. Pistachio. Cherry marble. Mint chocolate. Devil’s Food. Red velvet.

Nope. Zero. _Nada_.

Now this…this is fucking personal. This is a matter of honor, a matter of _pride_. He’s gonna get that man to eat a fucking _bite_ out of a cake even if it is the goddamn last thing he ever does in his fucking life!

And so, he begins pouring over recipe books. Experimenting. He stops taking orders and focuses on baking cakes. Combine chocolate with—no, scrap chocolate. It was the only flavor the man sent back. Maybe add some filling? No, too ostentatious. Vegetable cakes? Bake it in time intervals. Bake it in a water bath, like flan. Speaking of flan, make that a base? Or what about gelatin—no, that’s a fucked up idea. Make it crunchy? Super fluffy. Sift the flour twice, beat the milk until foamy, melt the butter—no, just softened butter. Does it change the flavor? Does it change the consistency? Red velvet with orange?

Ha, he can already see the man licking his lips. He’ll taste it and gasp in wonder, staring at the cake as if it’s the most amazing thing he has ever tasted—because it _will_ be—and he will send his compliments to Sanji. He might even ask him to come out and thank him personally, praising his skills as a professional cook.

Add cinnamon? A shot of espresso? What about dark molasses? Yeah…with gingerbread and a not-too sweet icing. Or yogurt, carrots, and cardamom. And going on vegetable cakes…what if he adds a can of tomato soup? Or maybe a parsley cake? Shit, he can make that delicious, no doubt.

A combination of mustard, beer, and sorghum…should he? Hell, why not? With gingerbread and chocolate glaze.

The man looks like he would enjoy a beer. Sanji has been studying him—because that’s what a chef _does_ , not because the guy is hot and makes cute faces when something he reads is particularly funny—and he can just tell the guy likes alcohol. It’s just something about him. Maybe the rough face? Or the fact that he looks like someone who works physically, like a construction worker. Sanji respects field labor a lot, mostly because he would never last in a job like that (out in the sun? Sweaty? Using his _hands_? Oh hell no) and he knows that to some people, there’s nothing better than a beer after a hard day at work.

Too bad they don’t serve beer in the mornings, which is when the guy comes.

All of his experimenting and odd combinations are narrowed down into three cakes, which he lets his cooks try. They all receive amazing reviews and praise, definitely amongst the best thing he’s ever created, and through an arduous process, he finally picks the perfect cake.

He puts it on display and is almost instantly sold out. Sanji can only watch proudly as people take their time eating the cake, their eyes close and their heads tilted back in pleasure.

Oh fuck yeah. He has to bake three more before the guy even shows up.

When Mr. Grinch—green hair and hates love and fun, which is essentially what a cake is—comes in and orders his slice of cake and coffee, Sanji carefully cuts out a slice, making sure it looks goddamn heavenly before he takes it out.

The man looks up and locks eyes with Sanji.

Huh…he never noticed Mr. Grinch has very pretty green eyes.

“I thought you got fired.”

Sanji blinks and stares at the man. It’s the most he’s heard him talk in the almost three months the guy has been coming here.

“Uh, no.” Sanji frowns and sets the cake in front of him, right in his field of vision, and the cup of coffee a little to the side. “Enjoy your food.”

The man looks like he wants to say something, then backs out in the last moment. “Thank you,” he says quietly and Sanji takes the opportunity to rush back to the bar where he can spy on the man without being seen.

The man grabs the spoon and Sanji prepares himself for the smile that is sure to replace the man’s perpetual scowl.

_Eat it. Take a bite. You know it smells delicious. Just pick up the spoon and take a bite._

The man grabs the plate and Sanji is already planning his victory dance—when the man pushes the cake away and brings the coffee forward.

Sanji stops breathing. He stares at the man, then at the slice of cake.

Then something snaps, and before he knows what is even going on, he’s marching up to the man, more furious and _hurt_ than he’s ever been in his life—and he once caught his girlfriend cheating on him with his then-best friend.

“What is wrong with you?” Sanji shouts at the man who startles so bad he almost spills coffee all over himself. Sanji doesn’t even care. “You come in here almost every day and you order the cake and every single time, you don’t even touch it! And I’ve tried so hard to make it good for you, I’ve spent hours in the kitchen just fucking slaving in the oven to make something that you would like, and you don’t even taste it!? I mean, what am I doing wrong? I’ve tried everything that I could think of—I just want you to eat what I made for you; I worked so hard on it! Just—just tell me what you want!”

Sanji is breathing hard and his face is completely red by the time he finishes his rant. The guy is staring at him with his mouth open and his eyes wide and surprised.

“I…don’t like sweet things.”

Sanji blinks. “What?”

“Sweetness,” the man repeats, and now he’s blushing. Oh wow, he…he looks pretty adorable like that—focus, Sanji. “Don’t like it.”

“Then why the fuck did you order cake?”

And oh, damn…he can turn redder. “Um…I…sort of saw you?” the man begins awkwardly. “During your smoke break? And, um, I wanted to…you know…and you were my waiter and the cake is the first thing on the menu…but every time I tried asking you out, I just…fuck.”

Oh. _Oh_. “You…like me?”

The guy runs a hand through his hair then quickly grabs his spoon, grabs a piece of the cake, and pops it in his mouth.

Sanji can only stare as the guy’s eyes widen, the lower to stare at the cake unbelievably. “Oh damn, this is really good,” he says, grabbing another piece.

“You know, I’m not going out with you just because you’re eating the cake.”

“No!” the man exclaims, getting to his feet suddenly. Sanji takes a step back in surprise—he’s huge, goddamn— and the man quickly raises his hands in the universal sign for non-violence. “That’s not…it has beer, right? I like it…beer, I mean; and the cake, too. I’m just…I’ll pay and then I’ll…be going, then.”

Sanji watches as the man pulls out a couple of bills from his wallet, his ears still blazing red. He glances at Sanji awkwardly and offers a weak smile that looks mostly like a grimace and begins to hurry out.

Sanji stares at the half-eaten cake.

“I get off at nine.”

The man stops and turns to look at him. “What?”

“I get off at nine,” Sanji repeats. “We could grab a beer.”

And now _that_ smile is the one Sanji has been imagining. The man’s face softens and looks more boyish, his eyes brighten, and his teeth gleam, the happiness evident. He has an amazing smile, just like Sanji has been thinking about for months.

“I’d like that,” the man says. “I’ll come by then. I’m Zoro, by the way.”

“Sanji,” he answers and smirks when the guy stumbles on a chair trying to get out. He glances at Sanji, blushes, then hurries out.

“Such an idiot,” Sanji snorts, but he can’t keep the smile off his face either. He glances back at the half-full cup of coffee and half-eaten cake. He grabs the spoon and takes a bit of the cake, groaning when the taste hits his taste buds.

Damn, he’s really the best chef ever. He can’t wait to give Zoro something he actually likes.

 


End file.
